Panes
by nessa-melwasul
Summary: Her father was always able to hold his ambrosia better than her mother, and Kara liked to speculate that that was because his ambrosia was much more expensive than her mother’s.


And today's word is... **pane.** Enjoy, kids.

* * *

"Hey Sam… When are we gonna get real houses? With glass windows?"

She tries not to let it break her heart when he bursts out laughing.

----

When she was a small girl, her father had a big studio on the twelfth floor of a tall building in the middle of the affluent section of Caprica City . It had a massive grand piano, hardwood floors, lots of lights, and (Kara's personal favorite) large bay windows that looked out with a sweeping view. The windowsills were so wide that a full-grown person could recline on them in total comfort. Of course, there was another part to the studio with her father's bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, and guest room, but the piano room was by far the biggest and the best.

She really didn't get that much time with her father, but when they were allowed the day together, she would spend the majority of it sitting at the window, looking out at the busy street and listening to him play his piano. She adored his playing, especially when he played the things he'd written just for her. Sometimes, he would hoist her up to the crushed red velvet of the bench to let her learn as he played. Sometimes he would teach her simple melodies just to give her the thrill of creating something beautiful.

Kara's father had many friends, all of whom were musicians. They often visited the studio, and she enjoyed the music as much as they did. Her father's best friend, Carlo, played the cello, and when Mr. Carlo-Cello (as Kara affectionately called him) came to the studio, he always brought new drawing paper and charcoal pieces for her. There was nothing more that delighted Kara more than sitting at her father's window, drawing the busy-looking people below her. Sometimes she drew the music.

Her father's other closest friend was a woman named Lakshmi. In Kara's opinion, Lakshmi was quite possibly one of the most beautiful human beings ever in existence, with her mocha-smooth skin, shiny black hair, and intelligent blue eyes. Lakshmi had a son named Mohan, who looked exactly like his mother with the exception of his eyes, which were the color of very expensive chocolate. Mohan was a few years older than Kara, and, when Lakshmi would come to Kara's father's studio to play the flute, Mohan liked to sit with Kara on the windowsill and read to her. In a quiet, unwavering voice, he would bring the scriptures to life one syllable at a time. When she was six years old, Kara decided she loved him.

----

"I wasn't trying to be funny, Sam."

"I'm sorry, baby. It's just…"

----

He hated to admit it, but, sometimes? Being the CAG could very quickly become absolutely overwhelming. He hated that there never seemed to be any space for him to breathe in. He hated that, when it seemed he was going to drown in paperwork, a crisis would just waltz into his office. He hated the fact that he was very often quite alone, yet so surrounded.

One thing he loved was the fact that he had the power to clear the observation deck and have it all to himself for a whole shift. He did this often, posting a sign that read: _Closed due to top-secret meeting. Trespassers will be thrown in the brig. Love, your CAG._ It was somewhat of a lie, but he didn't care because it meant a chance to be quiet with himself and the stars and his paperwork.

Then again, there was Kara.

The first time she came, it was out of pure curiosity. "Top secret meeting, Apollo?" she'd drawled, letting herself into the deathly still observation deck. She shut the hatch behind her, locked it. "With who, your invisible friends?"

He'd shot her a look to kill. "Get out."

"Ouch, ouch. That hurts, flyboy. It's me."

"Exactly."

She had merely furrowed her eyebrows and walked to stand in front of him. "What if I'm really really quiet?"

He rolled his eyes. "Kara…"

"No, really. You came in here for some frakking peace and quiet. So give me half of that," she nodded at the formidable stack of paperwork, "and let me stay if I'm quiet."

He had looked at her for a very long time before saying, "Okay."

----

"Why do you always laugh at me?"

She tries to keep the tears from her eyes, tries to keep herself from regretting her bright, shiny, poverty-ridden future.

----

Of course, her father and his musician friends did more than just play music together. They were smart, rich, cultured, the best of the best. They would drink ambrosia and eat fancy dinners with candles on the tables, and pretty dresses on the prettier women, and handsome tuxedos on the handsomer men; and they would discuss anything and everything that there was to discuss. Her father was always able to hold his ambrosia better than her mother, and Kara liked to speculate that that was because his ambrosia was much more expensive than her mother's.

And, of course, there were some days that Kara and her father spent together that didn't focus on music. He, being quietly wealthy, had the luxury of taking her anywhere and everywhere she wanted to go. They went to botanical gardens, zoological parks, aquariums, planetariums (Kara liked those best), museums, concerts, the opera, plays, movies, beaches, restaurants, markets, playgrounds, train stations, harbors, national monuments, wildlife sanctuaries… anywhere they felt like being.

It was her father who first took her to a temple and taught her to pray. The first person she ever prayed for was her mother. (Surprisingly, he wasn't surprised.)

Of course, her favorite place to be was always the window of her father's studio.

----

"What, Sam? What? I asked you a frakking question. Answer it."

"Kara, you're just such an unrealistic dreamer sometimes…"

----

It became a comfortable routine. They didn't fight, because when they were alone on the observation deck there was a strict rule of silence. The only noises produced were the humming of the engine, the scratching of their pens, the occasional flipping of a sheet of paper, their steady, even breathing. They never spoke to one another.

Sometimes they would stay, even after both stacks of paperwork were finished. There was nothing Kara loved more than to sit at the large windows on the front side of the deck, forehead pressed against the cool, thick glass. The fact that she was a mere handful of centimeters away from the oppressive vacuum of space frightened her there more than anywhere else (even in the cockpit of a Viper), and yet she could never tear herself away from the stars easily. Sitting there at the window often reminded her of her father, of a better time, and she coveted the fact that she was sitting quietly with Lee of all people, who (though she hated to admit it) was one of the last fragments of her life before. He, on the other hand, found not the stars but her reflection in the windows entirely spellbinding. He would sit for sometimes hours on end, if they could both afford it, just staring at her.

Sometimes, they would glance at one another. Time would stand still. One of them would breathe as if to say something, but the other would sadly shake their head, pressing a finger to enticing lips.

Once, he broke the silence even though they both knew he wasn't supposed to.

"Kara, I just…"

"Lee," she said, "I wish you wouldn't."

----

"And what's wrong with being a dreamer? I mean, gods, on this hell-hole of a planet, dreams are all that anyone is hanging onto!"

She tries to resist punching her husband, just this once. She doesn't want to frak this one up.

----

On the day before her tenth birthday, no one came to the studio. That was fine by her, of course. It was a rainy day, and the heavy pounding against the big windows mixed on a minor chord with her father's piano music.

That night was the first that he ever drank alone in front of her. That night was also the first time she ever witnessed her father very drunk. Her mother was an angry drunk, but her father was apparently a sad drunk.

He had invited her to his piano bench, helping her through a slow sonata. Then, tucking a strand of her gold hair behind her ear, he'd said, "Kara, my princess, there's something I need to say to you."

"What is it, Dad?"

He held her close, and he was crying harder than the rain. She shooed the tears from his face with gentle fingertips. "It's okay, Daddy… Please don't cry."

"Kara," he'd said, swallowing, "I just need for you to know that I love you more than anyone else in the whole entire universe."

"More than Mom?"

"Yes. More than your mother."

"I love you too, Daddy, you know that."

"I know, sweetie. I just really want for you to remember me, this place, my music. Even at the end of the world, you'll remember me, won't you, Kara?"

She'd frowned. "Of course I will."

"Good." They sat, suspended for a moment's pause, before he sniffed, straightening his spine and his music. "It's late," he'd said, "you need to get to bed because you're turning ten tomorrow… you don't know what sort of surprises you might find in the morning."

She'd kissed him goodnight and run to the small guest room that was her room, every time she was allowed to spend the night.

In the morning, she found him dead, seated at the window. The note had said: _I'm sorry, Kara._

----

"Sam, I just don't understand why you always try to make me what you want."

"Kara… I just want you. That's all I want, I swear. I want you, and I want a family with you. And I want to live here, with you. And I love you, and I want to love you. I don't understand why you don't want the same things. Don't you love me?"

----

On the day that the rumors about Apollo and Starbuck frakking on the observation deck finally came true, she finished her paperwork in record time.

It took him longer to catch up, and when he finally put the cap on his pen and took a long look at her, he couldn't help but notice the tears tracking down her cheeks.

"You know," she said, not looking at him but still aware of the fact that he was looking at her, "it's my birthday. You know that, right?"

"Naw… was _that_ what the frakking party was for?" He rolled his eyes at her, waiting a few moments before saying, with far less sarcasm, "Of course I know it's your birthday, Kara."

"You know," she said again, slower, "it's also the anniversary of my father's death. You know that too, right?"

He watched her for several long pauses. "No," he said, slowly, "I didn't know that." Against his better judgment, he moved from his customary seat down to sit at her side at the windows.

She was still crying a little, but her voice, though uncharacteristically quiet, didn't waver. "On the morning of my tenth birthday, I woke up and he was dead." She looked Lee straight in the eyes for the first time since they'd entered the deck. "Suicide."

"I'm sorry," was all he could manage. He hoped it was good enough.

The way that she leaned forward, never breaking eye contact, put one hand on his face, tentatively kissed him, told him that it was.

She never told anyone about what happened that day. Not about the way she tangled her fingers through his hair, the way his tongue danced across her bottom lip, about the way he gently brushed her tears away (and accidentally made her cry even more, the action being reminiscent of her own fingertips against her father's face), about the way he held her, about the way she quietly told him everything, about how much she missed her father and his music and those godsdamned windows, about the way he kissed her pain away, about the way he touched her, about the way he felt under her hands, about the way he whispered that he loved her and that he would never leave her, about the way he…

She never told a soul.

The next day, she was so frakking afraid that she refused to talk to him. The day after, they had a big fight. He pleaded with her, asked her if what had happened between them meant anything to her. If the fact that he loved her meant one frakking thing.

It did, but she loved him too much to risk frakking up his life more than she already had.

So she did the only thing she knew how to do.

She shut him out.

It was almost as though it never happened.

She regretted letting him go every day of her life.

----

"Sam… I love you. I will always love you, so don't you dare think anything different. But… We can't have a family until we can have a real house with glass windows."

She kisses him and tries to ignore his hurt face. All she wants is to not frak this up. Just this once, she wants to not frak up, and she wants to not be afraid, and she wants to not live with regret. Just this once.

She has been trying not to cry. She does anyway.

He runs his calloused fingertips over her cheekbones, and that just makes her cry harder. (She has been trying her very best not to think about Lee, but now she can't help it.) He pulls her close, cradling her head against his shoulder, stroking her gold hair with rough palms. "Hey," he says, "hey, I'm sorry, baby. Okay? Please don't cry. I'm sorry."

Aquiet moment comes and goes, as does another. And another. And another.

He sighs, quietly regretting the fact that he knows that she'll never really be his. Part of her will be his, his beautiful caged bird, but there will always be a part to Kara that is entirely intangible. Part of him can't stand that part of her. Part of him loves her for it. "I promise that we can have a real house with glass windows soon, okay? Hey, Kara? You know I really do love you, right?"

She bites her lip. "Yeah, I know you love me."

"Okay. Don't forget."

They fall silent, listening to the harsh rain that has begun to fall. She hates how she is beginning to forget how the rain sounds against glass windowpanes.

She closes her eyes against the pain and tries to tell herself that she made the right decision.


End file.
